Final Fantasy XII: A Charmed Acquaintance
by Chukapi
Summary: A story three years prior to the events of FFXII. It is the story of Balthier and Fran's meeting and how the two came to become Sky Pirate partners. Rated T for safety. Certain things may need parental consultation for young viewers. Review if read please


_**Final Fantasy XII: A Charmed Acquaintance**_

Authors Note: Well, this is the rewritten version, and I am writing this straight after uploading my notice. I thought to myself, perhaps if I start it straight away while my work isn't too heavy then there's a chance I can occasionally come back to it, add some bits here and there and upload something *hopefully* monthly. Thanks for reading! Enjoy.

All Final Fantasy XII content used in this fiction all belongs to Square Enix. I have no rights over the characters used and have no intention of using them for commercial usage. However, plot and story belongs to me.

_**Chapter I: The First Impression**_

For a lengthy period of time the new Sky Pirate stared endlessly; he was somewhat agitated yet ironically flattered by this sight. It wasn't until _after_ he had scoffed snootily at that which he gazed upon so attentively that he finally strode off in a rather charismatic manner. The lively streets of Rabanastre's western area greeted the Sky Pirate as he departed from the magnificent Aerodrome. The bustling crowds took no notice of the Sky Pirate and went about their own business: hurrying to catch the next airship prepared to carry them to another area of Ivalice, browsing the stalls dotted around the streets or simply taking a blissful morning stroll in the golden sun, whatever it was, it was all the same. It was a rather...uneventful morning.

For a few following seconds, he stood still as a statue atop the stairs leading out, or into, the Aerodrome and contemplated over his opinion on the matter as he stared ahead blankly. A smug grin appeared; _"I think it suits me rather well..."_

His grin did not fade. While momentarily resting his hands against his hips with his thumbs tucked neatly into his pockets, he advanced forward. His posture was reformed and full of dignity and his upraised eyebrows and lethargic (or, maybe, carefree) looking eyes combined with his cocky yet charming grin was a perfect combination, creating this sophisticated, charming, attractive-looking young man.

That which he had been gazing upon: the battered, torn yet complimentary wanted-poster which seemed to speak words of foreign bearing, those which only the most mysterious of female citizens of Ivalice found intriguing. It bore a simple portrait of the dashing 19 year-old which consumed most of the space on the poster. Faded words beneath the image read: '_Lawfully known as "Balthier" Ffamran Mid Bunansa'_ and following was the larger and more eye-catching phrase of: '_Wanted: __**Alive**_'and a princely sum of Gil below, suggesting that this chap had on his head quite a hefty bounty.

It was quite popular amongst foreign female tourists, firstly due to the fact that a lot of "old fashioned" ladies (who, like Balthier, began to flood from Archadia into Rabanastre) were intrigued by wanted men, particularly this 'Balthier' as he seemed...well, intriguing, of sorts; _he_, like themselves sustained the old fashioned, medieval appearance. Secondly, this Balthier seemed quite different. To date, the wanted posters consisted of grotesque Seeq's and Bangaa's and whatever else – everything apart from what entranced a girl. (The posters actually consisted mostly of gruff and atrocious bandit Humes who with their hideous, revolting eye patches, scars and sour expressions weren't captivating at all.) Not to mention, these tourists entering the Aerodrome, where most bills these days were located, would instantly encounter this wanted poster; a lovely irony indeed.

This, however, was quite an appealing change, the Sky Pirate bill, that is. It caught their attention almost instantaneously. No one quite understands why it is that women find such things appealing: theft, crime and charming men with bounties on their heads. For a man to become so famous within such a short time meant trouble for bounty hunters -- ah, but needless for more words is that subject and much too far has that gone on, but it must be emphasised the extent of this man's fame at such a time and at such a young age also.

It was the Year 703, Old Valendian. Rabanastre was quite different to the one you may be familiar with, being three years prior to the war between Archadia and Dalmasca. The very atmosphere was much less hectic despite the excessive quantity of outdoor shops (something the newer Rabanastre lacked). One could look up and see the entire sky stretched across space, painted a lustrous blue and untainted; not even a single cloud was in sight. The only intervention this endless carpet of cerulean ever experienced was the occasional sailing of an airship overhead, blessing the world with a soft, cooling shadow as it gradually soared through the sky, disappearing behind the surrounding buildings. For days on end the sun would beat down on the carefree city of Rabanastre; the heat would often rise above 40 degrees Celsius during this time and would drive the poor Rabanastrians to insanity. The humidity was even worse, especially during the rains. There was never any wind to cool the Rabanastrians; stood behind a stall for the whole day grew tiresome and unbearable as sweat rapidly accumulated on the brows of these innocent stallholders. It was hardly worth the amount of Gil they earned. Yes, life was quite different then.

Balthier was hardly amused by this insufferable heat. His demeanour remained unchanged, however, as he strolled through the eastern side of Rabanastre, receiving a few glares from the locals and a few murmurs from the townsfolk. He hardly cared for these unwanted gazes, but took little notice of them, instead continued to eye forward and headed for his destination. His pace remained unchanged. It was obvious that the heat caused him discomfort due to the fact that he constantly moved his arms and clenched his shirt in an attempt to prevent it from sticking to his skin. His eyes showed frustration, but attempted to conceal this with a conceited sort of stare. Any eyes which happened to catch his would receive an icy stare and would quickly be sent back to work.

At last! He had reached it: the bar of Rabanastre known as _The Sandsea_. Oh, but 'bar' is a much too degrading word for this place. Perhaps a more...humble phrase would suit better, say, a simple tavern of which weary citizens of Ivalice would stop by for one or two meagre pints, to simply converse with another over such drinks after a prolonged day of work for enjoyment. Yes, a much more fitting phrase is that.

He stared at it for a few moments before entering. There were a few tables situated to the left of its front door, all occupied by weary Rabanastrians, some who were slumped over said tables with head buried between folded arms. It didn't seem any of them were prepared to move. Quickly, he avoided submerging himself in awkward glares with those on these tables and relocated his gaze onto the door.

There was a sign reading "The Sandsea" with a simple illustration of a vast sea of sand. It was quite well known around Rabanastre and had become so renowned because of how odd it was in comparison to the rest of Rabanastre. Stepping into this Sandsea place was like stepping from Rabanastre into Archades – two completely opposite environments. While Rabanastre's lengthy roads and alleys had a slightly more relaxed environment (despite the fact that the stalls and shops were _constantly _busy), the Sandsea was an incredibly rowdy place and somehow managed to bring out from the most sane of people a side of foolishness.

He entered. He kept his head lowered in such a way that no attention would be drawn to him. It seemed inevitable that those dining in this place would be drawn to his presence, however, as a few heads swivelled to eye the man who had just entered. Their curious gazes were returned with equally ominous glares from Balthier and a very smarmy smirk. He strolled casually up to the counter and non-verbally addressed the bartender who, behind the counter, poured liquor into glasses. He was busy about his work and didn't appear to have noticed Balthier's entrance. Ah, just as he had intended. Not.

The Sky Pirate sought not to arouse the fact that he was well-known for his piracy. The place was already rather rowdy, though thankfully there was no violence or vandalism present -- _yet_. Laughs and muted conversations resounded in The Sandsea on this fine morn, as well as the less inspiring features of bars such as coughing and choking. The booze was already messing up the heads of the Rabanastrians and many were much too drunk for the current time of day.

Balthier rested his elbow on the counter and leant forward slightly, his body cocked at a rather odd angle. He avoided all eye contact.

"A single table if you'd please. Oh, and make it snappy, if you'd be so kind." He whipped out a pocket watch and examined its face before silently slipping it away again, "It's already noon, you know. I'd like to have a few drinks and continue about my business as soon as possible."

There wasn't a quick reply. Balthier's eyes lingered before returning to meet those of the dazed barkeeper – they were full of impatience. This old grunt, he was a man in his senior years and was clearly familiar with the likes of Balthier and seemed hardly an amateur in the profession of bartending, but still, he seemed to have been thrown off by Balthier's arrogant attitude and cocky comments.

"Erm, I'll have you know, sir, that my tables are all but free at this moment in time..."

The Sky Pirate, namely Balthier, had his eyes linger irritably again. Clearly he was attempting to present his frustration in a way that was obvious to the barkeeper but was also casual. It wasn't instantly that he leapt to his next remark, and consequently granted the barkeeper enough time to contemplate over what he had just said. It was almost as if he wished to indirectly invoke guilt within this man for having such an insufficient amount of tables or for simply dismissing him a place. The barkeeper now eyed around nervously. Apparently his, meaning Balthier's, devious ploy had worked.

"Well now, isn't that efficient?'" Balthier snapped in retaliation at long last. His remark brought with it a gritty glare which said one word: "pathetic". His arm was removed from the table and folded over his other in succession.

The man behind the counter was clearly annoyed but seemed to be accustomed to such behaviour. His eyes scanned the Sky Pirate up and down in an attempt to discern the disease which plagued this pirate, causing this lack of courtesy. But nevertheless, he was a customer and bore full rights to a drink or two in comfort – if he would pay.

The muted mutters of the customers nearby (who had obviously overheard this little disagreement between the sky pirate, namely, Balthier, and the chafed barkeeper who was now arched forward slightly with scrunched eyebrows) could be heard and seen leaning toward one another with astonished, or slightly disgusted, expressions as they occasionally glanced at Balthier in a way that no one, especially he, the Sky Pirate Balthier, would notice.

This didn't go unnoticed to the barkeeper. He caught a glance from one sat directly behind where Balthier stood and noted the irritation in their eyes. The bartender's face turned green. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all. Clearing his throat, he imitated the way Balthier avoided eye contact and stammered,

"Umm, begging your pardon, Mr..."

The Sky Pirate cleared his throat and in an unobvious fashion broadened his build by standing more upright and expanding his chest ever so slightly, "Balthier."

"*Ahem*, Mr. Balthier..." began the barkeeper, coughing in an obvious imitation of Balthier – a vicious cycle of imitations, almost as if they each hoped to best the other and appear superior. It was not in an insulting manner, of course. The barkeeper simply thought himself superior to his customer (and Balthier seemed rather piqued by this series of simulations) so it was only fair.

He continued, "There are a few seats available on occupied tables if you are that insistent. For instance, on the upper floor..." he gestured both through hand and eye movement, "a smallish tale overlooking the rest of the Sandsea by the banister, occupied by a...umm..." He seemed to struggle in recalling the name of who, or what and suddenly broke out into a doggish cough which had crept in so abruptly. Hammering his chest hardly caused the wheezing to cease. He was aided by a teen-aged looking boy from toppling over a few seconds subsequently. The old man narrowed his weary eyes as he slumped reluctantly into the arms of the boy cradling him gently, staring down sympathetically. Regardless of how much of a veteran he'd seemed before, it was evident that this man was much too old for such a taxing occupation as bartending. It was hardly fair though, considering the fact that his customers were so excruciatingly rude, including this Balthier person, who was certainly of no help to his stress.

"Relax, dad. I can take over for a bit if you want..."

Balthier eyed the boy quizzically with fed-up eyes. The barkeeper gazed at the boy who aided him with great gratitude, "No. It's alright...*cough*. Tomaj...that strange bunny-eared lady...what race was she again?"

A roll of his eyes and an exasperated sigh came from Balthier as he deposited the fee of Gil required from him onto the counter. The manner of his approach was very antagonistic, and seemed to have an "I've had it" attitude to it. It came as quite a shock to the barkeeper as the hand of this Sky Pirate met the table, flaunting his hefty collection of coloured rings. As dazzling as they were, it seemed rather....unnecessary for so many. His hand remained moments after and this pirate of the skies grinned rather smugly.

"Viera; the dwellers of the wood, live some distance east of the Ozmone Plains in a mystical place known as the Golmore Jungle. They are known for their mystical power: the ability to hear unheard voices of intellect in their sacred sanctuary. It is told in legend that this numinous talent, this...feat, if you will, is in merit of those 'bunny ears' you were so keen on referring to; this enough information for you to remember next time?"

No comment in response. The two merely eyed him in bedazzlement, completely stumped by this patronizing remark.

The Pirate retracted his arm to his side and stood for a few moments staring lengthily into the bartender's eyes. It was as if he was studying his persona, obtaining a full understanding of his character, and after apparently having obtained this knowledge, commenced to walk away. A smile was playing on his face.

"I'll take that table. It seemed I will be unwillingly dining with one from a race superior to ours for a little while." spoke the designated and distinguished sky pirate Balthier. A light-hearted laugh and a revolve of his head – all prior to the sudden pace he took towards the stairs which granted access to the upper level of this renowned bar. There was no further eye contact, only endless bedazzled gazes from a few members of the Sandsea, though not to an extent which would cause embarrassment. Although it would appear so, there hadn't been a great deal of attention drawn toward him from the members of the Sandsea – perhaps it was just too early in the day, or perhaps the liquor had thrown all their senses off; most likely the latter.

There was now a volume difference when he spoke. Slightly louder so that it could be heard more clearly but not too loud that it would create a disturbance. "I will be sure to give this venerated Viera a charmed salutation unlike the rest of you ignorant alruanes."

Silence clutched the members of the Sandsea due to this sudden sassy and impertinent yet oh so charming speech from the Sky Pirate, NAMELY, Balthier. He ascended those steps very casually, a little more casually than usual in fact. It was in a very smug manner, almost as if whispering 'look at me and my great accomplishment' yet in some ways it seemed he was...embarrassed from the previous discourse. Whatever the reason, he had now returned to his state of composure and complete smarminess.

Yet he failed to notice that the entire time he had been under observation of this 'venerated Viera' from above, the eyes of this strange creature glaring down in a rather taken-aback conduct, beaming out the word 'unbelievable'. Still, somehow this Viera seemed rather pleased that there was one amongst the Humes that bore some form of respect for other ethnicities deemed inferior. It was reassuring to know that they would be doing something other than rejecting them yet it would be ironic to demand respect when, rightfully, they were supposed to be completely absent. Their beliefs of segregation had been disregarded by the ones they knew the most – themselves.

At least, that was their assumption; did they _really_ know themselves as well as they assumed? Or was it the Humes who understood things more so than those deemed the superior and more intellectual of the two races?

_**-- End of Chapter I: The First Impression**_


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